Remembrance
by LovelyToMeetYou
Summary: It was quite an ironic turn of events, he had to admit, since this time around France had been the drunken one and England had been the one to drive the other nation safely home. FrUk, past FrancexJeanne


_Title: Remembrance  
><em>_Rating: T  
><em>_Character(s)/Pairing(s): FrUk, England's POV.  
><em>_Summary:_It was quite an ironic turn of events, he had to admit, since this time around _France_ had been the drunken one and England had been the one to drive the other nation safely home. FrUk, FrxJeanne

_Disclaimer:__ I don't own this series in any way._

* * *

><p>England let out a sigh after he dropped France on the couch. Damn, that idiot was heavy. After proceeding to check if the Frenchman was indeed sleeping – or more like blacked out – the Brit flopped unceremoniously on the couch with a huff. As England gazed at the unconscious nation beside him, he asked himself how things turned out like this. It was quite an ironic turn of events, he had to admit, since this time around <em>France<em> had been the drunken one and England had been the one to drive the other nation safely home, which was in _Paris_, the goddamned city of lights and romance and whatnot. Just being there made England tired and annoyed.

The green eyed nation sent another glare at the sleeping Frenchman and he started to – he would never admit it later, though – take off France's shoes and tuck him neatly in a blanket he found nearby (for what use he dared not ask). He proceeded to make himself a nice cup of tea, since he knew France would have at least one good flavor, and once again settled himself in a chair nearby the couch. He still wouldn't look at France.

Instead, he started to analyze the frog's apartment. As much as he had a clear distaste for most things French, he had to admit the place was very fashionable and even comfortable, with a nice mixture of pastel tones. The most impeccable place was the kitchen – which France had vehemently forbidden him to even step a foot near it – and the bedroom, England feared. In good days England would just watch France cooking, something that always dazed him and made him forget about any hurt he'd had for the Frenchman or search the vast library full of the other's culture and language and, regardless of what he would say, England loved it. In bad days, however, he would do his best to make France's day just as terrible, even though he would fail most of the time and only receive a comment on how immature he was. In those instances, he would just touch any utensil in the kitchen to flip the Frenchman's humor and surely enough; there would be quite the fight.

Today, however, was neither day. This was a day filled with melancholy for Francis and also for England. Today was the birthday of her death. Regardless of how many centuries it had passed and how many lovers France had in his whole life – which would make an enormous list, England was sure – the love the blue eyed nation had for her was limitless. France had loved her more than in a romantic level. He had truly loved her and today was a day the Frenchman made sure to remember every single year, be it with a celebration or something simpler. Celebration, of course, meant the idiot would get incredibly drunk and forget about the world. When it happened, either Spain or Prussia would always be there to take care of him (in their own way), but in more recent times England had taken over the job since the other nations had their specific partners to care about. Not that England was France's partner, of course! There was no way he-

There was no way he would ever be as utterly loved as she had, he reminded himself. Jeanne had been like no other. As much as – or perhaps because – France seemed sometimes so vulgar and a ladies man, it surprised England immensely when he saw the amount of devotion his old ally and enemy displayed whenever he had been with her. Of course, she had lived and died for him. There had been others though, many nations had their idols and England smiled warmly at the memories he held from the lovely Queen who had devoted her love only for him as well.

Jeanne had been different but he never knew the exact reason. Was it her devotion and love to her own country, even before knowing there was a human representation of it? Was it her lovely stance and beauty? Or was it because she had met a cruel fate and forever would be remembered? England supposed it had been all three as he remembered grimly how he – no, his subordinates, he recalled – helped her meet said fate. Her untimely death destroyed France, and as much as he tried to show otherwise, it continued to destroy him.

Centuries of shallow relationships and helpless flirts hadn't changed and everything seemed well, but every year, at this date, France would be alone and drink much more than necessary, meaning he "pulled of an England" – words that came from the frog, of course. Not even his stupid friends – who strangely seemed to be in a less annoying mood in this date – nor dear Canada and Seychelles, two of France's favorite ex-colonies, could pull him out of that state, so how the hell would England ever do that?

Not that he would or cared, either. The fact he had always been there in this date and helped a knocked out France was merely a… retribution, yes. For all the times the frog helped him with his own revolutionary crisis caused by an obnoxious idiot England still couldn't face seriously.

"Are you still here?"

His thoughts were interrupted by that one phrase and England realized he had been looking at France the whole time. Thank God the lights were low. But he still could see France's grim expression and worn out face – something quite unusual for the nation – and a certain _thing_ he couldn't name in the older nation's eyes. As always, the only answer would be indelicacy, bordered with real concern.

"I made myself a cup of tea. If my presence is bothering you, I'll leave." As the words rolled out of his mouth, he realized he didn't really want to leave, but his pride made him follow the words and he stood up.

"No. Please don't go."

England froze at those words. Every time he had heard those words he could never back out or run away. Not when it was either France or little America who had asked him. As of now, it would only be France and the pain in the blue-eyed nation's voice made England turn around and stare.

"Why shouldn't I? It is obvious my presence is bothering you, especially today. Do you really think I don't know you hate me?"

The words felt like a stab to even himself at every pained expression that passed through France's face.

"I- I have apologized to you many times and you know how I felt about it at that time and now as well! So why -" Why don't you look at me with the same eyes and soft expression? Why can't you forgive me? Why can't I stay by your side? The words kept echoing in his head but he couldn't bring himself to say them. "Why shouldn't I leave?"

And for the first time in all other nights in the same date, France sat up with a somber expression and talked with England instead of ignoring him.

"Because I don't hate you, _mon cher_, and I have forgiven you." France said softly with a soft expression that England had only seen centuries ago or in dreams.

The impact of those words were too strong and all the green-eyed nation could do was tremble subtly as he sat back in the chair next to France and held back his tears, not daring to say a word. They spent minutes like this, in this somber but not awkward silence as words flew from each of them. This was one of the rare moments words weren't needed and everything they were thinking was understood: the pain and the shame, the gratitude and the forgiveness and also there was love. A love that was neither young nor old, a love that transcended centuries, a love that both of them knew it and felt it on a daily basis but were still too afraid to show it. A love that someday would be shown in every single time of the day, filled with laughter and happiness. But for now, it was only something intangible.

"The lilies you bought today. She would have liked them."

France sighed and rested his head on England's shoulders, breathing peacefully as both nations were almost asleep.

"I know."

Their love would come, but today was her day.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>**/N:** This is the FrUk one shot promised for the poll and also a homage to Jeanne D'arc, one of my favorite historic personalities. Hopefully someday I'll write something else about her as well. I ship FrUk, as you can see in my profile, but only in certain periods of time and situations. It is a wonderful love and hate relationship and I can never get enough of it.  
>Fieldings<p> 


End file.
